


Look back at time with kindly eyes

by whokilledholofernes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Poetry, Pre-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:13:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9451805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledholofernes/pseuds/whokilledholofernes
Summary: “I want you to make tea and sit down with me for a moment. Would you do that?”





	

A week before Sherlock’s downfall - the denigrating articles, the “suicide” - they were sitting in the living room. John was re-reading the protocols from all cases associated with Moriarty the 100th time. He had written down  everything that seemed to matter and a bit more. All the names he could find, the streets, the dates. John didn’t really understand what he was doing, it would probably lead to nothing. He did it anyways.

Sherlock was slumped down at the desk. Every now and then he turned a page in the pile of paper beside the laptop. John looked up at him, he was close enough to see Sherlock’s eyes dart over the screen his laptop, never pausing. Like electronic connections, information stored. Sensing he was being watched, his gaze shifted to John. His eyes - usually so sharp - were dull and heavy lidded. He was tired. They both were.

They sat like that quietly for hours. The sun went from gold to purple, finally leaving an evanescing glow over a cobalt sky.

Sherlock then closed his laptop and carefully gathered the papers in front of him into a pile and put them on the side of the desk. John watched silently as his friend rose and walked over to the bookshelf and let his finger skim over their spines. After a moment he selected a book and slid it out.

“John,” he said softly “you can stop now.”

John looked at him, as he stood, stroking the back of the book with his thumb. “Why?”

“I want you to make tea and sit down with me for a moment. Would you do that?”

John gave him a puzzled look, then he rose and walked up to the kitchen counter. There was still water in the kettle from only this morning, he flipped the switch and took out two cups from the cupboard. Sherlock sat down in his chair.

When John handed him his cup and Sherlock took it without a word. He was already captured by his book. It must be of familiar tome since he opened it at the middle.

John sat down opposite him with his own cup steaming between his hands. A smile was playing in the corners of Sherlock’s lips and John didn’t want to disturb it with questions; he kept silent and watched his friend read. Something had shifted, what earlier had been tension, concentration and exhaustion was now altered into something gentler. The tension was still there, in the stiffness of Sherlock’s shoulders and the ache in John’s jaw. But it was different.

He watched as Sherlock read a paragraph over and over again, the smile was still there.

Suddenly he looked up.

“May I?”

John wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking but nodded all the same.

Then Sherlock started reading. 

_Look back on time with kindly eyes,_

_He doubtless did his best;_

_How softly sinks his trembling sun_

_In human nature’s west_

John smiled but closed his eyes as they locked with Sherlock’s. He felt something chatter within. “Will you read me another one?”

Sherlock nodded and turned pages.

_Elysium is as far as to_

_The very nearest room,_

_If in that room a friend await_

_Felicity or doom._

_What fortitude the soul contains,_

_That it can so endure_

_The accent of a coming foot,_

_The opening of a door._

When he finished John’s eyes were still closed. There was a moment of silence and then Sherlock began to read again.

He kept reading until the sky went from cobalt to black and lighter again.

John began to drift, Sherlock’s voice a soft background. He wished he knew who Sherlock was reading. He wished…

“John,”

John opened his eyes to see that Sherlock had risen. “I’m-” He murmured.

“Good night, John.” Sherlock turned and closed the door to his room, leaving John with the mere echo of Sherlock’s words.

-

In hindsight, John wondered if Sherlock that night knew he was going to die.


End file.
